


Spider Webs and Tulle

by thorbiased



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Ballet, Dancing, Fluff, Gen, Mama Spider, Neither of those movies actually happened, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Team Spider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 05:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15988778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorbiased/pseuds/thorbiased
Summary: “Follow my moves as if you were looking at me in a mirror.”Peter watched Natasha with attentive eyes as she moved, her limbs like liquid. She placed her heels together, turning her feet so her toes were facing opposite each other. Her arms curved downward and her palms faced her chin. Her face looked more serene than Peter had ever seen it. He understood why she loved it so much, then. It was peaceful.





	Spider Webs and Tulle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I haven’t taken ballet since I was like 5, so all of the ballet moves and positions are described based off Google images. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoy.

Of Spiders and Tutus 

Peter had his nose buried in a chemistry book, tapping a pencil against the table top idly. His homework had been steadily getting harder and he'd finally broken down and admitted that okay maybe he didn't quite understand the topic. So he'd gone back to the source material. 

He was halfway through a paragraph on moles and atomic weight when something flew through the air and smacked him against the face. 

"Blood sugar, kid," Natasha said, "What have you eaten today?"

Peter sighed and picked up what he could now tell was a granola bar. "I've...eaten," he mumbled, tearing into the plastic. In truth, the last thing he'd eaten was an apple on the way to school, and that was nine hours ago. He wondered if that was why his brain was running so slowly. He took a bite of the granola bar, and his stomach growled loudly. Oh, yeah that was definitely why.

Natasha hummed, grabbing a snack for herself off the counter. "Homework trouble?" she asked, nodding towards the book and assignments on the table. 

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, kinda," he admitted, his speech garbled by the food in his mouth. "I just read it too fast, really."

Natasha crossed the room towards the table, coming to stand behind Peter. She looked over his shoulder. "Ah, chemistry," she said, her eyes scanning the pages. "Say, you wanna take a break and come with me?"

Peter quirked an eyebrow and looked up at her. "A mission?" he asked eagerly. 

Natasha shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "Stark would kill me. Just come on, it'll be better if I showed you." 

Peter hopped up from the table. Excitement flowed through him, making him grin from ear to ear. He'd mostly gotten over the relative star-strucken-ness that came from hanging out with the Avengers, but every once in a while, it hit him just how awesome his life was. 

He followed her like an over-excited puppy to the elevator and to her floor of the tower. The doors slid open, revealing a sleek, modern kitchen area that connected to a living room. There were two hallways. Natasha lead him down one beside the kitchen. 

"Have you ever tried ballet?" she asked, her blue eyes alight, as she pushed open a door. Inside it was a pristine dancing studio, three walls lined with mirrors and the other a floor-to-ceiling window. The view of New York made Peter's breath catch. 

"It's gorgeous," he muttered, staring out at the city. He wondered if she’d let him snap a pic. It was truly an amazing view. “And no, I've never tried ballet."

Natasha smirked. “I’m gonna teach you.” 

She slipped off her sneakers and socks as she walked towards a single cubby on the other side of the studio. “Shoes off,” she told Peter, pointing at his feet. 

Peter obeyed, and tossed his discarded shoes of the floor beside hers. He shrugged out of his jacket, leaving him in just a heather grey tee shirt and jeans. “Are young gonna make me wear a tutu?” he asked, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow. 

“No,” Natasha laughed, she took down her pair of baby pink slippers from a hook on the rack. There was a single chair in the room, where Natasha sat to put on her shoes. “I do suggest putting on your slippers, though.”

Peter’s wrinkled his brows in confusion. “Huh?” He didn’t have any ballet slippers. There was that one time Aunt May made him take tap dance, but he certainly couldn’t wear those shoes anymore. What was she talking about? 

Nat inclined her head to the cubby. “Those,” she said again. 

Peter scanned the contents of the cubby, looking past the black and white tulle to the bottom, where a pair of tan slippers sat untouched. His eyes lit up as he lifted them into the air. “These are mine?”

The spy nodded, a bright smile on her lips. She rarely smiled like that, Peter thought. He knew she had a lot of walls to get through, and he couldn’t blame her for those, but it seemed like he’d broken right through them. 

“I asked Stark for your shoe size,” she explained, her whole body bent gracefully as she laced her shoes up to her calf. 

“Thanks, Nat,” Peter said genuinely, bringing the shoes close to his chest. He plopped down on the floor and pulled the shoes on. They fit perfectly, even if they only covered his toes and his heels. There was only a leather strap connecting those pieces. 

“Okay, kid,” Natasha said, slapping her knees and jumping up. “You ready?” 

Peter let Natasha pull him to his feet. “Yep,” he said, bouncing with excitement. He shook out his limbs and wiggled his fingers. “Let’s do this.”

“Woah, squirt,” Natasha said with a breathy laugh, her hands raised in a calming gesture, “we’ve got to start slow.”

“Oh,” Peter said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He stood still. “Right.”

Natasha lead him to the middle of the floor. She placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him towards one of the big mirrors on the wall. She put on a concentrated face, her lips pursed and brows narrowed. 

“Follow my moves as if you were looking at me in a mirror.”

Peter watched Natasha with attentive eyes as she moved, her limbs like liquid. She placed her heels together, turning her feet so her toes were facing opposite each other. Her arms curved downward and her palms faced her chin. Her face looked more serene than Peter had ever seen it. He understood why she loved it so much, then. It was peaceful. 

“This is first position,” she said, “Feet out and arms bent down.”

Peter awkwardly copied her stance, and winced slightly when he turned his feet outwards. “This is tough.”

A smirk grace Natasha’s features. “The next one’s easier,” she promised, “Watch me closely.”

She spread her arms out like a bird unfolding its wings, then her legs as well. “Second position.”

Peter did the same thing. “How many positions are there?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“Five,” Nat replied. “Ready for number three?”

Peter bobbed his head, sending his curls bouncing. “Yep.”

Natasha walked him through the next three positions with patience and grace. Peter fumbled a bit, but it didn’t take him long to get the basics. Natasha was a good teacher, and in the back of Peter’s mind, he wondered that if Natasha hadn’t been a spy, if she would have been a ballet instructor in Russia. He could definitely see her doing it. 

“Why don’t you go change into some sweat pants?” she suggested when she’d finished teaching him the positions. “I’ll show you a few real moves when you get back.”

Peter nodded and hurried up to his room, changed and ran back down in less than two minutes (which might have been a record, he’d have to ask Friday later). When he returned, he found Natasha wearing a black tutu and tank top instead of the yoga pants she’d been wearing.

Peter grinned at her. “You look pretty, Miss Natasha,” he said, coming to stand next to her in front of the mirror. 

Natasha bit her lip to hide the blush that crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She wasn’t used to compliments that weren’t something along the lines of, “Nice work, soldier” or “Good aim”. 

“Thanks, Pete,” she said, dipping her head. She placed her hands on her hips. “Okay, pas de chat.”

Peter’s face crumpled into a confusion. Was that French? “Yeah, I dunno what that is.”

Natasha laughed and blushed a few stray curls of red hair out of her face. “I know. Watch me, then try it.”

Peter crossed his arms and rested his weight on his left leg. He stared on in awe as Natasha pranced through the room, bending one leg after the other. Peter knew if he tried to do that, he’d look like a headless chicken, but when she did it...she looked like a princess. 

Natasha came to rest back in position one, then turned her eyes back to Peter with a smile. “Now you,” she said. 

Peter laughed nervously. “Okay,” he sang, before closing his eyes and exhaling. He set his feet in first position, then leapt into the air. Laughter bubbled in his chest, and he couldn’t hold it back. He dropped to the ground, clutching his stomach. 

“That’s so much fun,” he breathed in between fits of giggles. He fell on his back. “How do you keep from doing this all the time?” 

Natasha laughed and lied down beside him. She folded her hands over her stomach. The corners of her lips had turned down slightly, her eyes a little lost. “I wish I’d learned like you,” she said, letting her head loll over so she could see Peter. 

Peter frowned. “How’d you learn?” he asked. He knew a little about Natasha’s past, but not much more than “left the KGB for SHIELD”. 

Nat’s eyes grew dark. “Where I trained...they made us learn. It was one of the few times I was really happy.”

Peter bit his bottom lip. “Are you happy now?” he asked, his voice low and hesitant. This was the kind of question only Peter could get away with asking people. 

Natasha turned away from Peter and stared at the ceiling of her studio. It should have been a simple question, but for so long, she hadn’t been able to really ask herself it. Was she happy? She had friends that she loved and a life that, despite being dangerous, she loved.

“Yeah, I’m happy now, Pete,” she said, the corners of her lips turning up into a smile that she didn’t want to hold back.


End file.
